


Come Into My Parlor, Says The Spider

by SquidJuice



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cannibalism, Captivity, F/M, Force-Feeding, Forced Cannibalism, Forced Orgasm, Hannigram - Freeform, Kidnapping, M/M, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Urination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2018-08-14 08:43:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8006158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquidJuice/pseuds/SquidJuice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham is released from jail and goes directly to Hannibal's home to find evidence proving that Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper.  Unfortunately, Hannibal comes home at the same time and catches Will in the act.  Nothing good follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When The Cat Is Away...

Something was wrong.

From the moment Hannibal stepped into foyer he could feel it, the air was different, thicker somehow and foreign. Even the doorknob had been slightly warm, it seemed, unnaturally so for the cool temperature of the evening but that had been a trivial notion. Now the thought was haunting as he tapped his shoes against the floormat in the entryway, shaking off the already melting snow and scanning the familiar space before him. Not a thing out of place it seemed, all furniture and artifacts stood silent vigil in their usual spots and yet it seemed as if the air itself had been moved, shifted. Puzzling.

And then he saw the water.

Small little pools, droplets of melted snow streaked and puddled against the wood floor in a small and thinning trail toward the kitchen. It seemed that someone had not taken the care to wipe their shoes before breaking in. An odd sensation overcame Hannibal as he reached backward, slipping the key into the bolt and twisting it with a satisfying thunk to lock it behind him. The locks had been installed specially, so as to not only keep unwanted visitors out but also hold special 'guests' in for as long as he wished without worry of escape. Hannibal slipped the key into the pocket of his jacket while reaching his hand into the other to find a small syringe full of a strong tranquilizer he had been saving for a good opportunity. It seemed one had presented itself.

_Let's see you now_ , Hannibal mused, kicking off his shoes with practiced care before stepping onto the cold, now wet, wooden floor. He had half a mind to call out, challenge the stranger forward from their hiding place to meet him and they would see who the real threat was. But this game had a bit more suspense to it and already his breath was becoming hitched, his pulse racing with the thrill of catching this misguided thief unawares and beating them at their own game. _Bit off more than you could chew, little mouse. The cat has come home_.

Hannibal found the kitchen empty, which was disappointing. Disappointing and curious, seeing as nothing so far had been touched, not any of the priceless artifacts within the foyer, nor any of the extensively expensive wine, nor the silver. Everything remained indiscriminately clean, spotless, and untouched as just before he had left that day. This certainly was no thief.

Wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

The syringe fell from Hannibal's fingers and back into his pocket as he reached for a small kitchen knife, bringing it out of the wood block with slow precision so as not to make a sound. The small trail of melted snow had thinned out and vanished, leaving no trace but it was then that he noticed the pantry door, left slightly open with miscare. A small chuckle pushed against his throat and Hannibal clicked his tongue absent-mindedly, pulling back the pantry door to reveal what he had suspected. _A careless little mouse, indeed._

The trap door had been thrown open, leaving a vast hole within the floor that led down into darkness, yet deep within that distant darkness Hannibal heard the soft shuffle of careful footsteps and in that moment the gentle hum of a generator. Fluorescent light pushed it's way through the space of the floor and for a moment Hannibal was blinded, accustomed only to the dim light of the hallway.

Someone had turned on the lights.

An odd excitement electrified his senses. No one had seen his work before, none except for those who had been such a careful part of it, and they had no sense to appreciate it for what it was by the end of it. This was different, a surprise unveiling of all that Hannibal had worked so hard and suffered for, the perfect care put precisely in place in every single instant of it would now be seen, basked upon, glorified.

But something was still wrong.

Not a thief, no, nothing was taken, nothing ravaged in a search for valuable items, everything kept clean and precise as it had been left and yet the trapdoor had been found at ease with deliberate precision as though the trespasser had known it was there and what it held beneath it. No, this wasn't right at all, Hannibal thought, squeezing the small blade against his palm, sucking in a breath as he inched toward the shadowed staircase with practiced silence, descending down without knowing what or who to find. Whoever it was knew something and that was dangerous.

Then Hannibal smelled him.

It was the most familiar smell and a fond one, sought after time and time again through the space between metal bars, across a large and echoing courtroom, within a confined and intimate holding room when the two of them had the privilege to be alone. An offending scent at first, yes, Hannibal quite well remembered his distaste for it when it had first struck him, an overbearing odor of dog hair and moisture, sweat and musk, black coffee and dust, distrust and loneliness, yet it had grown on him with the crooked tilt of a smile and the way the slight man would look down at his shoes, sad and sick and all alone like him. After a time those smells had swirled together into a fog that was Will and Hannibal welcomed it's presence.

And now it was in his basement, deep in the dark recesses of himself that Hannibal had kept so far from his younger companion, though not so carefully, it seemed his darker sides had a way of pushing themselves to the surface and, yes, Will had been an inevitable victim of that compulsion, indeed it was Hannibal's love of him that had forced his place within the center of it, yet that did not mean that Hannibal had not tried to keep him ignorant. It seemed that all the drugs, hypnotism, and crippling illness thrust upon him could not withold a human being's quest for the truth.

So here he was.

The final step came upon him before Hannibal had decided what to do with the knife and he could hear Will's voice now, the gasped curses and ragged breaths of horror and disgust all too familiar down here in this dark place and Hannibal could turn the corner now, he should turn the corner now and rush at him, take him down before he knows that Hannibal is there but he finds himself frozen in place, listening. Will Graham had always been such a mystery.

"God....oh, god....Hannibal...."

The sound of his name on the younger man's mouth moves him at last and Hannibal steps out from his hiding place to find Will there, back turned to him, gun in hand, though carelessly hanging to the side, forgotten and Hannibal slides his hand with the knife back into his pocket, holding it there.

"Will."


	2. Chapter 2 Preview...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preview...why? 'Cause I'm a dick, that's why. But seriously, I can't believe how long it's been. You're all so damn patient! More chapters coming very soon, I give you all my promises. Here is a small taste, just 'cause it's late and editing isn't a skill I possess at the moment.

"Will."

Hannibal's soft words seemed to shatter the air and Will spun around to face him, snapping the gun at his side to attention and steadying the wrist that held it with his other hand in a practiced pose. Still he shook, gun barrel wavering to and from its intended line of sight. The younger man blinked behind the shining lenses of his glasses and gaped at the man before him in horror, wordless. The unorganized, somewhat haphazard mess of Hannibal's work lay in the background behind him, much resembling the clutter of an artist's studio. Sharp, gleaming tools lay about upon a stainless steel surgical table, shining against the fluorescent light as the object of Hannibal's artistic inspiration gave a gentle sway from the hook that held it from the ceiling. The bucket beneath it gave a hollow echo as a drop of blood oozed and trickled before falling against it's surface, for a moment the only sound in the room.

And he did look wonderful then, even under the unflattering lighting of the basement Will Graham seemed to have a charm all his own. Something that was incredibly human and ethereal all at once, basic and beyond him. Sweat gave a steady trickle down the surface of his brow and Will blinked as it threatened to spill into the corner of his eye before it slid down the side of his nose. The smell in the air was all Will Graham against a sterile background, the sharp scent of his sweat blended with the rather unpleasant smell of clothes too long unwashed and confined in a small space. It seemed that Will had not even taken the time to change out of the clothes he had worn the day he was arrested. The cloth smelled of dampness and the unforgiving steel of a cold filing drawer, so much so that Hannibal could almost taste it. The cold metal where it had sat forgotten for months on end, encased as though precious, something to be protected. So much like the man who wore them. Hannibal made another soft step toward him, letting the knife slide from his fingers as he lifted his hands from his pockets.

"Don't--don't!" Will raised his pistol higher and stumbled forward, trembling.

Hannibal stilled, raising his hands. He forced his features to go soft in compliance, lifting his chin and tilting his brows in passive inquisition. "Are you going to shoot me, Will?"

The younger man's trembling stilled but for a moment and his eyes widened as if in shock before narrowing with some unknown insight. A deep dark rumbling chuckle rose from the investigator's chest and pushed through his throat as if unbidden, ugly and bitter and unlike him.

"I will..." The gunbarrel lifted and pushed forward as Will took another step closer, daring where before he had been uncertain. "I will if you make me...so don't... fucking move!"

Hannibal paused in his step forward, foot hanging momentarily in the air before moving back to its original position. He lifted his hands even higher in submission, his fingertips now far above the tip of his head, and began to feel rather vexed with the whole situation. The meat would surely spoil if left hanging for too long. The temperature of the basement had been set to a purposefully cool temperature, yet not one that would keep a fresh kill from turning rancid if left too long. Hannibal had timed it well enough to be left to drain the blood while he went to work, yet would not keep long afterward should he still intend to prepare the parts of it most desired for a meal. The unforeseen interruption would surely destroy any dinner plans if allowed to go on for too long. Will shifted his feet, eyes darting to and fro in a nervous, directionless search. 

"A phone..." It was half a whisper and Hannibal wasn't entirely sure he had heard it until Will blinked and fixed those perfect eyes upon him, suddenly clear. "Is there a phone down here?" 

"Certainly not," Hannibal let a soft smile escape him despite himself as those desperate eyes darted across his features, searching. Oh, my darling Will, how you are such a sweet fool at times. "Dear Will, what do you take me for..."

"...an amateur?" When those eyes met his, Hannibal could not help the blatant smirk that he felt twist his face, uncharacteristic, unbidden. It seemed they were both not themselves today. 

And then the gunbarrel was in his face, it seemed that Will had crossed the distance between them with far more speed than Hannibal would have foreseen, and the cold metal shone with a special sort of brilliance under the fluorescent lights, whispering his death to him like a dare. He had always welcomed it. 

This evening was an opportunity. 

"Will," Hannibal whispered, selecting the most soothing tone he had at his disposal as he angled his neck backward against the sudden onslaught, summoning an expression of concern as he sought out those searching eyes. He let the words hang there in the air like the plea that they were.

"You..." Will shook his head, gun held steady and ready, waiting for some sort of sign, an absolution that would make him sleep easy should he pull the trigger now in this moment and end forever a man that had been his friend. Had he been? How long had been this betrayal? How deep-rooted were these rotten seeds?

Hannibal could see these ideas toss about the young empath's head and left himself prostrate and vulnerable, a visual victim in this game of morals. Those eyes shifted, darting around the room then back to Hannibal, tongue sliding across cracked lips as the former agent seemed at a loss. The knife in Hannibal’s pocket felt heavy at his side and his fingers began to tingle, growing numb as the blood flowed down his arms. “May I lower my arms now, Will?”

The gun was pushed closer, the cold metal now pressed under the psychiatrist’s chin. The metal was cold as ice and smelled of dirt, taken from a box hidden far away without the intention of use. From the thick scent of moist earth and damp cardboard it had been most likely buried in the ground somewhere and only recently resurfaced. It must have been a rather clever hiding spot for the FBI to have not discovered it. 

“Is this...is this all a game to you?” Will's voice was unhinged and desperate, yet it had taken on a different tone than before, one of a close friend pleading with another, begging for an understanding.


	3. The Lion in the Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I have no excuse for how long this has taken. Thank you to everyone who is still following this story after so long, really, you are all so patient. I apologize for any formatting errors, as I am still getting used to things. I'll try to make updates more often, but life tends to get in the way. Like I said, no excuses. Thanks for reading.

"Will."

  
Hannibal's soft words seemed to shatter the air and Will spun around to face him, snapping the gun at his side to attention and steadying the wrist that held it with his other hand in a practiced pose. Still he shook, gun barrel wavering to and from its intended line of sight. The younger man blinked behind the shining lenses of his glasses and gaped at the man before him in horror, wordless. The unorganized, somewhat haphazard mess of Hannibal's work lay in the background behind him, much resembling the clutter of an artist's studio. Sharp, gleaming tools lay about upon a stainless steel surgical table, shining against the fluorescent light as the object of Hannibal's artistic inspiration gave a gentle sway from the hook that held it from the ceiling. The bucket beneath it gave a hollow echo as a drop of blood oozed and trickled before falling against it's surface, for a moment the only sound in the room.

  
And he did look wonderful then, even under the unflattering lighting of the basement Will Graham seemed to have a charm all his own. Something that was incredibly human and ethereal all at once, basic and beyond him. Sweat gave a steady trickle down the surface of his brow and Will blinked as it threatened to spill into the corner of his eye before it slid down the side of his nose. The smell in the air was all Will Graham against a sterile background, the sharp scent of his sweat blended with the rather unpleasant smell of clothes too long unwashed and confined in a small space. It seemed that Will had not even taken the time to change out of the clothes he had worn the day he was arrested. The cloth smelled of dampness and the unforgiving steel of a cold filing drawer, so much so that Hannibal could almost taste it. The cold metal where it had sat forgotten for months on end, encased as though precious, something to be protected. So much like the man who wore them. Hannibal made another soft step toward him, letting the knife slide from his fingers as he lifted his hands from his pockets.

  
"Don't-- _don't!_ " Will raised his pistol higher and stumbled forward, trembling.

  
Hannibal stilled, raising his hands. He forced his features to go soft in compliance, lifting his chin and tilting his brows in passive inquisition. "Are you going to shoot me, Will?"

  
The younger man's trembling stilled but for a moment and his eyes widened as if in shock before narrowing with some unknown insight. A deep dark rumbling chuckle rose from the investigator's chest and pushed through his throat as if unbidden, ugly and bitter and unlike him.

  
"I will..." The gunbarrel lifted and pushed forward as Will took another step closer, daring where before he had been uncertain. "I will if you make me...so don't... _fucking move!_ "

  
Hannibal paused in his step forward, foot hanging momentarily in the air before moving back to its original position. He lifted his hands even higher in submission, his fingertips now far above the tip of his head, and began to feel rather vexed with the whole situation. The meat would surely spoil if left hanging for too long. The temperature of the basement had been set to a purposefully cool temperature, yet not one that would keep a fresh kill from turning rancid if left too long. Hannibal had timed it well enough to be left to drain the blood while he went to work, yet would not keep long afterward should he still intend to prepare the parts of it most desired for a meal. The unforeseen interruption would surely destroy any dinner plans if allowed to go on for too long. Will shifted his feet, eyes darting to and fro in a nervous, directionless search.

  
"A phone..." It was half a whisper and Hannibal wasn't entirely sure he had heard it until Will blinked and fixed those perfect eyes upon him, suddenly clear. "Is  
there a phone down here?"

  
"Certainly not," Hannibal let a soft smile escape him despite himself as those desperate eyes darted across his features, searching. Oh, my darling Will, how you are such a sweet fool at times. "Dear Will, what do you take me for..."

  
"...an amateur?" When those eyes met his, Hannibal could not help the blatant smirk that he felt twist his face, uncharacteristic, unbidden. It seemed they were both not themselves today.

  
And then the gunbarrel was in his face, it seemed that Will had crossed the distance between them with far more speed than Hannibal would have foreseen, and the cold metal shone with a special sort of brilliance under the fluorescent lights, whispering his death to him like a dare. He had always welcomed it.

  
This evening was an opportunity.

  
"Will," Hannibal whispered, selecting the most soothing tone he had at his disposal as he angled his neck backward against the sudden onslaught, summoning an expression of concern as he sought out those searching eyes. He let the words hang there in the air like the plea that they were.

  
"You..." Will shook his head, gun held steady and ready, waiting for some sort of sign, an absolution that would make him sleep easy should he pull the trigger now in this moment and end forever a man that had been his friend. _Had he been? How long had been this betrayal? How deep-rooted were these rotten seeds?_

  
Hannibal could see these ideas toss about the young empath's head and left himself prostrate and vulnerable, a visual victim in this game of morals. Those eyes shifted, darting around the room then back to Hannibal, tongue sliding across cracked lips as the former agent seemed at a loss. The knife in Hannibal’s pocket felt heavy at his side and his fingers began to tingle, growing numb as the blood flowed down his arms. “May I lower my arms now, Will?”

  
The gun was pushed closer, the cold metal now pressed under the psychiatrist’s chin. The metal was cold as ice and smelled of dirt, taken from a box hidden far away without the intention of use. From the thick scent of moist earth and damp cardboard it had been most likely buried in the ground somewhere and only recently resurfaced. It must have been a rather clever hiding spot for the FBI to have not discovered it.

  
“Is this...is this all a game to you?” Will's voice was unhinged and desperate, yet it had taken on a different tone than before, one of a close friend pleading with another, begging for an understanding.

  
Hannibal brought his eyes to Will's and took in the wild look there with a detached curiousity, noticing the dilation of his pupils from the stress that tore through his frame. Will's hands were both now clasped around the butt of the gun as he pressed the barrel against Hannibal's chin, one finger curled against the trigger. His fingers smelled of oil, sweat and urine. A hurried relieving of the bladder with no time for a wash. Hannibal wrinkled his nose with distaste and tried to appear sympathetic as he inched his own hands lower from their place suspended in the air.

  
“Your hands are shaking. Put the gun down, Will.”

  
“Fuck you!” The former investigator spat back at him, spraying saliva as he tightened his grip upon the handle of his weapon, eyes shining with something akin to a fever as he took another step forward to dig the barrel against the vulnerable flesh of Hannibal's throat. The two stared at one another in the thickening silence that hung between them and another drop of blood made its hollow echo in the metal pail behind him before Will seemed to regain a sense of purpose. He shook himself, or rather shuddered perhaps, before straightening to meet Hannibal's eyes once again with a detached professional air. “Where’s the phone?”

  
The two continued to stare at one another for a moment before Hannibal answered in a calm and even tone, "Upstairs."

  
Will nodded and Hannibal wasn't sure if the motion was at him or for Will's own personal benefit, yet either way the gun was pulled away from his chin and waved in front of him in a very vague direction which he could only discern as toward the stairs behind him.

  
"Show me," Will ordered him, leveling the barrel back into his face, and Hannibal gave a short nod in response before backing away toward the staircase. The only sound in the room was the soft shuffling of their footsteps as Hannibal felt his way cautiously backward with every step as Will followed closely after him. The two did not remove their eyes from each other as they made their steady way.

  
"Will," Hannibal began as he neared the stairs, sensing the nearby trigger without needing to move his eyes as he stared back at his captor, knowing its placement like so many perfectly placed things down in the space that was only his. Will blinked and tightened his grip upon the gun, finger twitching upon the trigger as he took another purposeful step forward as his eyes darted with every movement Hannibal made. Every breath made the empath tense. "Will, what are you going to do?"

  
"Shut up!" The young man's face twisted into a snarl, turning his pleasant features to an ugliness unlike him. Hannibal put forth a flinch for the man's benefit and made himself appear to be quite the passive captive for all visual purposes as the the two of them inched their way backward across the sterile tile floor.  
They were close now. Hannibal could see the bright red button of the emergency shut off switch shining like a beacon in his peripheral vision, hoping it did not seem so blatantly obvious to the man before him as he was inched back toward it. However, the young man's eyes seemed to be trained only upon him as they made their way, shining brilliantly under the artificial light.

  
"Did you think you were going to get away with it?" Will breathed at him as they inched backward, footstep by hesitant footstep, the slide of polished soles their only companions in the emptiness that surrounded them. The man's breath smelled as though his teeth hadn't been brushed in a great while and the faint scent of liquor wafted into the air, an encouraging sign. Will had a bit to drink before he made his way to Hannibal's estate, it seemed, and the fact would guarantee a slow reflex response, something that Hannibal would count upon as he made his next move. It was obvious now as he looked into the other man's eyes, the slow drift of his gaze, the inconsistent slowness of his movements despite the panic that gripped him. No, he was not drunk, yet he was not sober, and that was an advantage that Hannibal could use.

  
"Get away with what?" Hannibal asked, letting his face fall blank in an expression of passive confusion as he regarded the man before him, even as he took in every detail that presented itself. The gun seemed to be the only weapon the man possessed other than physical strength, which had never been much despite whatever training he had received in his previous workings with the FBI. Will Graham was nowhere near a brute and whatever physical force he could muster, Hannibal could match tenfold with carefully masked practice. So physical force not being a threat and with only the gun as leverage, with a steady buzz going and the hesitance of a beaten wife before turning her husband over to the cops, Hannibal was willing to say that he could take whatever resistance Will Graham was ready to muster against him. Because the uncertainty in the young man's eyes wasn't ready to shoot him and that was hesitance enough. Enough to get the advantage and take the danger away before it got out of hand.

  
"What?" Will's eyes widened and he stopped dead at the bottom of the stairs, holding Hannibal within a few breaths of the shut off switch. There was a wild, insane look to him then as he leaned close, long hair curling wildly about his face as he pressed nearer, breath hot against Hannibal's face in all it's ripeness, thick and acrid against the sanitary air around them. A testament to horrible humanity against the attempt to subdue it in all it's forms and somehow Hannibal felt inclined to respect the protest as it reared at him, foul and greased, stinking with it's flawed perfection. " _What?_!"

  
Will took him by the shoulder then and threw him against the bottom of the stairs until the base of Hannibal's spine collided with the cement floor beneath them, jarring him out of his reverie. The tail end of his spine cried out in protest and yet he had managed to catch himself upon the railing soon enough to prevent any lasting damage. Hannibal's fingers curled around the cool metal of the post as he clung to it, surely securing his image of terrified captive as he twined himself in upon it, lifting his arms to cover his head from a blow he knew would not come.

  
"Abigail!" The name was spat at him like a curse and Will sobbed as it sounded upon the air, shaking in uncontrollable tremors as the man struggled to control himself. The name hung between them, the weight of it heavy upon the air. "You killed Abigail! You killed her! You son of a bitch, _you killed her!_ "

  
Hannibal lowered his hands from his head, lifting his eyes up to meet his as he grasped the steel railing between his fingers. The red button was only a few feet above his head and Will seemed to take no notice of it. The man was all emotion now and not thinking clearly, something that Hannibal could use to his advantage. Those eyes that met his were wild and wet, hurting and accusing, not seeing anything around him but Hannibal himself.

  
"Did you take her down here?" Will asked, voice shaking in echo to the hand that pointed the pistol at him. Tears shone in his eyes against the fluorescent light, threatening to spill at any given moment. "Did you string her up and cut her throat? Did you let her bleed out before you cut her ear off or after? Tell me! You sick fuck!"

  
Hannibal only stared at him, pulling himself up against the railing until he was on his knees. Will jerked with his sudden movement, leaning down over him with his gun, making it clear that he could move no further. Hannibal raised his hands again in answer, spreading his fingers in compliance while gauging the distance between himself and the shut off switch. One well planned dash should do it, when Will was not expecting it. He only needed to instigate him further. From the looks of the man before him, it would not take much.

  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Hannibal answered in a carefully measured tone, his gaze flicking back and forth from Will's wild eyes to the gun pointed before him. He lifted his hands higher still to appease him, doing his best to appear both terrified and baffled by the accusation. "Will...you were the last person with her before she died. How should I know what became of her? I loved her just as much as you did."

  
"Liar!" Will hissed between his teeth, tears spilling against a sudden sob that shook his composure. The gun barrel fell slightly, steadily drifting toward the ground as Will stared down at him. "You don't love anything! You made me believe that you do...but you don't. You made me believe so many things..."

  
"You're not well," Hannibal insisted. "Put the gun down."

  
Will shook his head, laughing like a madman. His finger twitched upon the trigger, sweat dripping against the outlines of his face. It shone brilliantly against the light, trailing down against the clenched line of his jaw. "Tell me what you did to Abigail."

  
Enough was enough. The meat was long since spoiled, the scent of it stinging against Hannibal's nose, and with it the last of his patience faded away. The game had been enjoyable in its moment but that moment had long since passed. A cold calculation met Will's gaze, a dangerous anger shining behind it. "You want to know?"

  
Will answered it unflinching. Another heavy drop of blood made its hollow echo against the silence, the only sound within the room. "Yes."

  
"I cut her throat after I cut off her ear and she let me do it."

  
The way the man's face crumbled before him was beautiful in its own right. Hannibal pulled in a breath and held it as though he could hold the moment with it. Will's eyes widened with disbelief and the steadily threathening tears spilled at last, trailing down his cheeks as the gun within his hand lowered to point at the floor. Every possible emotion seemed to flicker and die behind his eyes, his mouth falling slack in answer to the sudden surrender of his limbs.

  
It was beautiful and perfect. It made Hannibal's pulse quicken in his chest and his breaths grow ragged. It was everything he had wanted to see in him without the opportunity to draw it forth, now openly the displayed before him without restraint.

  
It was the moment he had been waiting for.

  
In one fluid motion Hannibal lept to his feet, seeing for a single second how Will's eyes fluttered, his sluggish limbs made weary with alcohol and unable to respond in time. Hannibal slammed his palm against the power switch and the room fell into darkness.


End file.
